


Painter's Hands and Guatemalan Coffee

by therealvalkyrie



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Cheating, College AU, F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Insomnia, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Roommates to lovers, Swearing, bed sharing, minor injury, modern!AU, reader has a dead mother and an absent-ish father, slowburn romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:27:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealvalkyrie/pseuds/therealvalkyrie
Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.
Relationships: Levi Ackerman/Reader
Comments: 30
Kudos: 103





	1. on the inevitability of dating a frat bro

**Author's Note:**

> hi y'all! This is a slowburn series I've started and posted over on tumblr already (my @ over there is also therealvalkyrie, if you wanna check it out!) and have decided to start posting both over there and here! I'll be migrating the existing chapters over the next couple of days:)

Palms slap flat against the door of your apartment as you stumble the last few steps, barely catching yourself before your right ankle twists out from under you. Sharp pain shoots up your leg, and you know it’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker in the morning.

“Shitshitfuck _ow_ ,” you slur as you slide to the ground, back to the wall, short skirt bunching dangerously high on your thigh. Fumbling fingers go to the ankle strap of your right stiletto and pull fruitlessly on the ties. With a whine, you curse the forethought you had to double knot the thin cord when you were getting ready to go out earlier in the evening. Your tongue sits heavy and dry in your mouth as you lean your head back against the wall and press palms against your eyes until stars swim into your vision.

_How the fuck did I end up here?_ you think with a soft hiccup, and all of a sudden you’re crying again.

As you sit in your apartment hallway, drunk and distraught and slowly freezing from the outside in, you recall the events of the night. Getting ready with Hange for girls’ night, meeting up with Sasha and Hitch at the new bar across town. Downing shots and cocktails until the worries of the week melted away, dancing until your feet ached and your eyes stung. Seeing your boyfriend across the dance floor making out with another woman. Correction, seeing your boyfriend making out with your best friend. Correction, seeing your _ex-_ boyfriend practically fucking your _former_ best friend in the middle of the _goddamned club_ \--

With that image freshly burned into your mind, you let out a gut-wrenching sob followed by a tremendous sniffle just as the apartment door opens.

\--

A soft thump echoing through the apartment jerks Levi out of his light sleep. It takes him a second to remember you went out to your girls’ night, glancing over at his alarm clock. 2:17 am, sounds about right.

He rolls over and readjusts his sheets around him, determined to go back to sleep. It’s not uncommon for you to spend your weekend out with friends all night, and he learned a while ago that you’re perfectly capable of getting yourself showered and into bed after a night out. That’s one of the things Levi likes about living with you: you generally know how to stay out of his hair, and he doesn’t find himself caught up in yours.

When Hange had introduced you to him at the end of last semester as a potential roommate, he had been hesitant. In his book, anyone Hange approved of was bound to be at least slightly off their rocker, but he had been hoping to sign a lease for the next school year before leaving town, and after meeting you he felt willing to take a chance. He told himself it was because of your stellar recommendations from former roommates and respectable credit score, but the smallest part of his mind admitted it was also because of your pretty hands and intelligent eyes. 

That day at his favorite tea shop when you had met up to sign the lease, he had asked you about your major and you had practically lit up with the way you spoke about the architecture degree you were pursuing. The pair of you had chatted all afternoon, discussing books and comparing experiences with professors in the art department. When you learned he was in the painting program at your university, you had grabbed one of his hands off the table in both of yours and examined it closely.

_“You have painter’s hands,”_ you had proclaimed after a moment, turning his hand in yours and tracing the cracks in his palm lightly. _“Just like my mom’s.”_

Levi had simply sat there, stunned at how such a small gesture made his heart race and neck grow warm.

With a groan, Levi rolls back over in an effort to shake himself out of his turbulent thoughts. 2:19 glows green at him from his bedside table, and suddenly he’s struck with the realization that he hasn’t heard you actually come into the apartment, let alone close your bedroom door with your habitual sharp snap.

“Damn it to hell,” he mutters as he flicks on a beside lamp and stuffs feet into slippers. Careful to avoid knocking over the painting set to dry on the easel by his desk, he opens his bedroom door and hears the muffled sound of sobbing from the front door.

\--

Levi stands in the doorframe in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, poking his head out into the hall. For a moment, he can only stare. He’s never seen you like this before, utterly dejected, scatter-brained, _small_ , so unlike the confident woman in the tea shop.

“You look like shit,” he says plainly, the barest hint of concern in his voice.

You keep your eyes downcast and weakly flip him off, continuing to sob gently. At the lack of your usual backtalk, his expression slips from his usual impassivity to a sharp frown.

A delicate hand encircles your upheld wrist and you let it go limp in Levi’s grip as he crouches down next to you.

“Hey, hey, what happened? Are you hurt? Why are you crying?” His calm tone helps you focus your mind, and you manage to hiccup a response.

“G-god I’m an idiot,” you sniffle, and raise your eyes to barely meet his. His head is ducked to your level, and he’s crouching on the balls of his feet, one hand gripping your limp wrist and the other hesitantly reaching for your shoulder. “Just leave me out here to w-wallow, or better yet take me out with the t-trash, that’s obviously all I-I am,” you gesture vaguely at yourself.

“Did someone tell you that? That you’re trash?” Levi asks sharply, dipping his head with yours in an effort to maintain eye contact. 

Your bottom lip trembles and you sniffle again. Just under the delicate white noise of life, Levi can hear his heart break cleanly in two.

“It was more implied,” you supply weakly.

Levi sighs, then drops his hands and straightens up. 

“Alright, up you get.” He extends his hand, and you stare at it for a second before adjusting your bag on your shoulder and gripping his warm hand with your freezing one. A solid pull later, you find yourself balancing in your heels, Levi’s hand gripping your elbow and the other around your waist. You mumble a thanks, and attempt a step on your right foot towards the door. The traitorous ankle buckles again and you cry out as you stumble once more. But this time Levi’s there to catch you against his chest, now fully supporting you at the waist.

“Ah, I forgot,” you mutter into his shoulder.

“ _Tch,_ ” he clicks, gently chastising, and in a second he’s scooped an arm under your knees to carry you into the apartment. Vaguely, you wonder at how coordinated he is as he kicks the door shut and nudges the light switch with his elbow. _Pretty buff for an art major,_ you muse, with your head laying against his chest and arms looped around his neck. _How pathetic is this, can’t even walk into my own home._

He nudges his way into your room and casts his gaze around in the ambient glow of your desk lamp. You can tell he’s holding himself back from commenting on the clothes strewn across the extra chair by your closet and the lipstick-stained coffee cup sat atop a pile of textbooks on your desk, and you look down in embarrassment. There’s a reason you keep your door closed most of the time. Despite the mess, he successfully navigates across to your bed and gently puts you down, arranging your pillows behind you to support your back before disappearing into the living room again.

You take a moment to wipe at your eyes, sigh self-pityingly, and slouch down into your soft bed, not caring that you’re still fully dressed. Not only did you catch your boyfriend cheating, but you managed to wake up your (usually grumpy) roommate, reveal to him how messy you actually were, and injure yourself in the space of half an hour. Just about a record.

The shrill ringing of your phone breaks into the silence. As you’re digging through your purse to pull it out, you remember with a sinking feeling that you didn’t even tell the girls you were leaving the club, let alone what happened. You slide a shaky finger across the screen to accept the call and put it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Uhm, hello? Where the fuck are you?” Hange’s loud voice makes you wince and hold the phone slightly away from your face.

“Oh god, I’m sorry Hange, I went home. S-something happened and I, well I just called an Uber and didn’t even think,” you finish lamely.

“What happened? Did you get home safe? Did someone hurt you? I swear to god-”

“Hange, I-”

“-rat bastard bartender was eyeing you all night I could’ve guessed he’d try something-”

“Hange!” She stops short and allows you to speak. “I got home safe. Levi’s here. I’m not hurt, the bartender didn’t try anything, I… I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, okay?” You inject your tone with some bright optimism in an effort to assuage her panic. “Tell Sasha and Hitch not to worry, okay?”

Over her momentary silence on the other end of the line, you can hear traffic sounds and faint club music, as though she had stepped outside to call you. A strained sigh, then: “Okay. I’m glad you’re okay, but I’m still mad at you for not checking in before you left. Had me worried sick.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’d be mad too. Can you swing by tomorrow? And I’ll explain everything?” Your hand rubs down your face and you close your eyes in a guilty grimace.

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” The call ends and you drop your phone down onto your bed where it bounces gently away from you. 

When you open your eyes again, Levi is standing in the door holding a cup of tea, his other hand cupped around something, studying you with uncertainty. You sit up hesitantly against your headboard, surprised. You’d figured he went back to bed and left you to put yourself to bed as you usually did.

He crosses the room with his smooth gait, and in a moment, you feel two ibuprofen pressed into your palm and the mug of tea nudged into your other hand, your roommate gently prompting you to drink. He watches as you pop the pills and take a slow sip of the tea, smiling faintly when you recognize that it’s chamomile.

“Good.” He takes the mug and sets it aside on your bedside table. Pulling your desk chair up to the side of your bed, he sits, and leans over towards your feet.

His light fingers start to work on the knots in the ties of your shoes, and you can feel his voice rumble lightly as he says, “What happened, kid?”

You huff a laugh at the pet name, then consider where to begin. You decide straightforward is the best approach with someone like Levi.

“I saw Reiner and Annie at the club, sucking face in the middle of the dance floor. I thought he was at some quote unquote _frat thing_ and _she_ insisted she couldn’t come out to girls’ night because of some stupid group project. They didn’t even see me, I just turned around and left before I knew what I was doing. _God_ , I’m such a spineless coward.” You take a shuddering breath and let out a choked sob, trying to stop the waterworks and unable to keep them at bay.

“Hey.” Levi’s sharp tone startles your teary gaze to meet his eyes, which look practically murderous. He leans over to grasp your shoulders, warm hands scorching cool skin. “You are _not_ a spineless coward. _He_ is the goddamned spineless foolish bastard, and if I ever see his ugly mug I will wreck it so bad his own mother won’t be able to identify the body. As a matter of fact, that goes for Annie, too. Are we clear?”

You blink in shock before fully registering his words and nodding slowly. “Crystal.” Levi looks the most angry you’ve ever seen him, brow furrowed and mouth set determinedly.

“Good.” He returns his attention to your ankle. While you were talking, he had successfully untied and slipped your shoes off your swollen feet. “Now, let’s see what’s going on with your weak-ass foot.”

He spends a good minute poking and prodding and turning your ankle every which way in his grasp. “Does this hurt?” and “What about this way?” are answered with soft “no”s or a wince and a “yes”. His hands are practiced and intentional, and you briefly wonder how much experience he has with treating injuries. After a last gentle prod, he sets your foot back down on the bed.

“Well, it’s definitely not broken. It is swelling, though, and probably sprained. I’ll go see if we have an ace bandage or something.” He stands and moves to leave, but before he can get too far you gently grasp his forearm.

“Thank you, Levi.” Your voice is soft and sincere as you look up at him through curled and mascaraed eyelashes. “Thanks for picking me up off the floor and listening and taking care of me.”

Levi studies your tired face for a moment. The trails of mascara down your cheeks, a stray piece of glitter sitting on your cheekbone, lipgloss smudged on the left side. It seems as though his hand moves on its own, reaching out to stroke your cheek lightly, thumb gently brushing away the escaped glitter. He doesn’t miss the way your lashes flutter as you subconsciously lean into his touch. Finally, he tousles your hair with a hint of tenderness in his eyes.

“ _Tch._ Don’t worry about it, kid.”

“I’m barely younger than you!”

“Whatever, brat.”

\--

Levi is sitting at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea and hunched over his laptop when you step out of your room late the next morning. Freshly showered, your hair curls delicately over your shoulders and the scent of peppermint body wash reaches his nose. He studies you for a moment. You’re wearing a loose sleep shirt, cotton shorts, and an oversized cardigan, and he can see where the ace bandage he found last night pokes out from under your fuzzy socks. Clearly, you’re planning to stay in today.

“G’morning,” you murmur, passing behind him to get to the kitchen. Your roommate grunts a greeting in response and takes a sip of tea in his odd overhanded way. You start your coffee routine, reaching for the French press and coffee grounds from a shelf and setting the kettle to boil on the stove. It’s grounding to go through the motions of a daily ritual after the emotional turmoil of last night. Or rather, the emotional turmoil of this morning. It had been hard to drag yourself out of bed before noon, and harder still not to crawl back into your warm sheets after a scalding shower. You steel yourself for the inevitable conversation as you measure out grounds, then finally turn and hop up to sit on the counter facing Levi when the only thing left to do is to wait for the coffee to brew.

“Sooooo,” you start in a long, drawn out syllable, leaning back on your hands.

His hands still on the keyboard and a quiet tension fills Levi’s shoulders before he turns his body fully towards you, resting a hand on the back of his chair. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes are softer than they usually are when you interrupt his studying.

You take a deep breath. 

“So, uh, last night I was kind of a wreck and you were really sweet, and I just wanted to say thank you again and I’m sorry you had to witness that.” It’s said in a rush, and by some miracle you manage to maintain eye contact.

“Like I said, don’t worry about it. That’s what friends are for.” 

“I know, I know, I just-- it felt really nice to have someone, y’know, there after what, uhm, after what happened and I really was a mess I mean I must’ve looked so gross and I woke you up at like what? Two am? And you were just so steady and kind and I mean you even tucked me into bed for God’s sake--” you ramble on, the words falling over each other in your awkwardness. _God, you idiot don’t you know when to shut the fuck up??_ “--and I know how much you like it to be quiet at night and I really do try to--” 

Levi cuts you off when he stands fluidly from his seat and crosses the kitchen in two strides, entering your space and placing his hand over your mouth in the same motion. You look at him with wide eyes, suddenly breathing very oddly. The clean smell of paint thinner and black tea simultaneously clouds and calms your mind.

A beat, then: “Brat. Stop rambling, you’re welcome.” You study each others’ faces. Levi’s eyes are stern and steady as he looks up at you through elegantly disheveled bangs. To Levi, you look like a deer caught in headlights, all surprised eyes and warm cheeks. After a charged moment, he lets his hand drop and takes the smallest step backwards.

It takes your brain a second to reboot, then you’re fumbling over your words again. “Okay. Well, uhmm. Okay.”

“How’s your foot?” He glances down at the foot in question as if to check it’s still there, then back at you.

“It’s okay. Still hurts to walk on but I can handle it,” you manage to breathe out with the air left in your lungs.

“Good.” He nods once, then turns and sits back down at his laptop. He hears you huff half an incredulous laugh and slide down from the counter to pour your coffee. A shake of the head and a sip of tea later, his mind slips back into essay mode and away from the woman drilling holes in the back of his head with curious eyes.

\--

“Hey baby!” You hear Reiner’s voice from the door as he pushes through it with his usual boisterousness. From your position at the kitchen table in front of your laptop, your back is to him and you allow yourself a moment to press your nails into the palm of your hand and steel your nerves before plastering a smile on your face. You stand up and turn to greet him, limping to meet him halfway from the door.

“Hey babe, come on in!” 

He winds an arm around your waist and pulls you in to peck you on the lips as usual, but you manage to subtly turn your head so it lands on your cheek instead. With the flash of an innocent smile as a coverup, you step out of his arms and make your way into the kitchen to set the kettle for coffee. “So, uh, how was your frat thing?”

He follows close behind you, completely oblivious, and cages you in with your back against the counter after you’re done at the stove. “Eh, it was alright. Got some new pledges, you know how it is.” He grins in the cocky way you fell for and leans farther into your space. You give a giggle and rest gentle hands on his chest, keeping him at a distance while feigning affection.

“Oh, sure. Busy night of fun, I’m sure.” Your tone is sickly sweet and you mentally grimace at yourself to take it down a notch. 

Fiddling absentmindedly with the collar of his shirt, you take a moment to mourn your relationship. While it’s about to end swiftly and brutally, you know that you will miss the security and warmth you had with Reiner in the beginning. You finally lean in to lay your head on his chest one last time, and your heart aches at the way he tenderly rests his chin on top of your head. The moment is broken by the kettle beginning to whistle and you gently push him away to go turn it off.

“How’re Hange and the girls?” He leans himself against the counter and watches as you bustle around the kitchen, preparing coffee as you usually do when he comes over. It’s one of the things the pair of you had initially bonded over, trying new beans and methods of brewing nearly every week. Recently, you had been using Guatemalan beans with notes of peach and candied almonds, a birthday gift from the cheating boyfriend himself.

As you measure out grounds into the French press, you maintain an cheerful disposition. _This is it,_ you think. _Don’t back down now._

“They’re doing great, we had so much fun! We went to that new bar on Oakland Street, I think it’s called like Stevie’s?” Of course it’s called Stevie’s, it had been all anyone could talk about since the new bar opened earlier in the semester.

“Oh, yeah, uhm I’ve heard good things, good things….” His voice has a nervous edge to it, and a glance in his direction confirms that he’s awkwardly rubbing his neck as he usually does when he has something to hide. 

You push on: “Yeah! I think you would totally love it! Very much your vibe. Anyway, we got absolutely plastered, to be honest I’m not even sure I remember how much I had to drink.” A pause for dramatic effect accompanied by a ditzy laugh. “But y’know, I do remember seeing one thing.” You carefully bloom the grounds before pouring the rest of the water in, focusing your gaze away from Reiner in order to keep your cool.

“Oh?”

You casually set the chicken shaped kitchen timer on the fridge to four minutes and adopt a thoughtful tone. “Yeah, I saw Annie there. Which was odd, because she told me that she had this huge group project to be working on. Guess she finished early. Oh, and you know what else I saw?”

“W-what?” A sharp turn away from the fridge reveals his increasingly nervous face to you

“I saw you there, too! Maybe you got so drunk at the “frat thing” you just don’t remember going, how funny is that?” You keep your voice light but find yourself unable to maintain a smile, your expression slipping into somewhere in between hurt and determined.

He shifts awkwardly on his feet and looks anywhere but your face, hand still rubbing the back of his neck. “Ahaha, really? Are you sure it was me, becau--”

“Oh, it was you. And do you know what you were doing?” This time, your voice is icier than the sidewalk in February after a week of sleet, causing his body to still and face to fall.

“N-no…” It’s almost pitiful how quiet he is now that his usually confident demeanor is shaken.

“You were kissing Annie. Which is funny, considering you both are in relationships.” The statement hangs in the air and you stare steadily into his eyes. You make it a point to regulate your breathing and blink back the first tears beginning to pool.

After another charged split second, your idiot ex-boyfriend decides on the worst path: badly gaslighting you into thinking it wasn’t him.

“I uhm, I was uh, are you sure? It couldn’t have been A-Annie-- I mean uhm, me, uh, ahaha, if it was, that’s so funny…” He stumbles over his words, only trailing off in defeat when you hold up a hand to silence him.

“Save it, Reiner. I already had a breakdown last night, I’m not particularly in the mood to deal with yours.” You limp over to the table and pull out a chair to reveal the cardboard box of his things you had packed up that morning. “Here’s your stuff, now get the hell out and stay the fuck away from me. Maybe go grovel to Bertholdt and see if you can salvage that relationship.” Your hand trembles as you point at the box and then the door and your lip quivers with the effort of not crying.

Reiner evidently sees the vulnerability in your eyes and decides to grasp at a few last straws, adopting a pleading mien, complete with sad smile and innocent eyes. He moves towards you slowly, as though approaching a wounded animal, and reaches out to lay a hand on your shoulder. “Aww, come on, baby, it wasn’t like that, it was just a heat of the moment thing, I didn’t mean--”

“Didn’t mean what?” Facade finally breaking, all you can muster up is a furious, cracked whisper and angry tears. “Didn’t mean to stick your tongue down my best friend’s throat? Didn’t mean to practically fuck _your_ best friend’s girlfriend in public?”

“No, I mean, yes, but I, aw, c’mon sweetheart,” he admonishes, cautiously reaching out to wipe away your tears. You cringe away, but before he can touch you his arm is ripped away and he’s stumbling back with a shocked expression.

“I believe the lady told you to get the fuck out.” Levi’s standing in front of you out of nowhere, hands eerily still at his side. Evidently, he had come back from the store smack in the middle of The Dumpening, and a glance towards the entryway confirms there are grocery bags discarded haphazardly on the floor. Turning your attention back to the men in your kitchen, you see Reiner’s face has rapidly shifted from surprised to angry. He’s caught himself against the counter, breathing hard, eyes flicking from your teary eyes to Levi.

“Hey, this isn’t any of your fuckin’ business, buddy,” Reiner drawls, confident as he straightens up to his full height. He practically towers over Levi, the shortest of the three of you, and you can tell he’s already estimating your roommate to be an easy fight should it come down to that. Sharp panic enters your chest at the thought of a fight breaking out, and your hand flinches out to grasp Levi’s jacket sleeve desperately. You’ve seen Reiner in a couple bar fights, and even drunk he’s a force to be reckoned with.

He doesn’t acknowledge your touch, instead injecting a quiet venom into his usually dispassionate tone. “You made it my fuckin’ business when you touched my roommate without her permission in my home.”

The taller man opens his mouth to retort, but you beat him to the punch: “Reiner, just go. I want you to leave.” Some mettle has returned to your voice and you force obstinate lungs to take a deep breath. “Please take your stuff and go.”

Eye contact with Reiner usually makes you feel warm and safe and in love, both of you prone to wearing your heart on your sleeve. This time the experience is sullied by conflicting anger and hurt and guilt written across his face, filling your already aching heart with an unshakeable leaden weight.

He inhales sharply, then speaks in a much more uncertain voice. “Is this really what you want?”

Your mouth quirks to the side in an effort to quell more tears. “Yes, this is really what I want.”

The fight slumps out of his body, shoulders rounding imperceptibly, and he holds up his hands in defeat. He crosses to the cardboard box of his things sitting on the kitchen chair. You don’t miss the way Levi casually keeps his body between you and Reiner, staring him down as he moves towards the pair of you. Your grip hasn’t slackened on Levi’s jacket, and at this point you can’t distinguish if it’s to stop him from doing something stupid or simply to have something to hold onto.

Reiner hoists the box into his arms and turns his head towards you once more.

“Goodbye,” his voice cracks on your name and you tear your eyes away in favor of staring at the linoleum kitchen floor.

The front door clicks shut. 

You finally drop your hand from Levi’s sleeve, sink slowly into the chair behind you, and bury your face in your hands. The dull aching of your heart seems to seep through the rest of your body until your limbs are heavy, ankle throbbing from standing on it for too long.

You hear Levi’s retreating footsteps towards the door, the _shunk_ of the lock slipping into place, and the crinkle of plastic grocery bags as he picks them up off the floor. He works in silence putting the food away, giving you space to collect your scattered self. When his task is complete, he joins you at the table, sitting in the chair which had previously been occupied by Reiner’s box. 

When the chicken timer rings, he calmly shuts it off and returns to sit by you. 

When his cell phone dings with a text notification, he deftly sets it to “Do Not Disturb” and returns to keeping you company.

When you finally meet his eyes, it looks like you’ve aged a year.

“You all right?”

“Been better.”

“At least this time you’re sober.”

“ _Pfft,_ ” you scoff. “Wish I wasn’t.”

“Speaking of, I got wine and cheese at the store. The “perfect break up cure”, in your own words.” His tone is dry, but his mouth is slightly quirked at the side. “And I saw that _Pride and Prejudice_ is streaming on Netflix.”

His thoughtfulness chips into your melancholy, and you hazard a watery smile. “Aw Levi, you didn’t have to do that.” With that, you lean over and pull him into a warm hug, arms around his neck and chin hooked over his shoulder. He hesitantly puts his own arms around you and pats your back awkwardly.

“Really, it’s no--”

“Oh, shut up and let me be grateful for you.”


	2. 1.5: portraiture and speculation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> over on tumblr, this is a half chapter, but it really doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things i suppose! it's just shorter and is from levi's perspective.

_ In the hierarchy of genres established by the Academy, history painting was at the top and portraiture came next. Artists aspired to elevate the importance of… _

Levi takes a slow sip of tea while his eyes glide over the article in front of him: the latest reading for his European Art History class. His mouth twitches at the bitter taste of over-brewed Earl Grey. The library cafe never seems to be able to get tea right, but he was desperate for some caffeine to push him through a couple more hours of studying.

_...female members of the royal family have been depicted as goddesses… _

_ Fuck.  _ Levi’s brain had gotten away from him again.  _ I have no idea what I just read _ .

With a deep sigh and adjustment of his posture, Levi starts the paragraph again.

_ In the hierarchy of genres established by the Academy, history painting was at the top and portraiture… _

The portrait in his room flickers into his mind’s eye. Nearly complete, his mother’s smiling face stares back at him. The stormy grey of her eyes had taken Levi a week to remember and another to perfect. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he sits cross-legged on his bed facing her and wondering if it’s truly an accurate depiction. In his best memories, she is warm and smiling and beautiful. Levi can’t help but wonder if somehow he’s written over his mother’s true features with an invention of his own; some sort of collage of the kind women in his life. He had caught himself painting Hange’s wide smile instead of his mother’s once, and he hadn’t worked on the portrait for a month after. If he was going to ever do it justice, he had to be certain it was as close to his actual memory as possible.

The end of the page jars Levi out of a reverie, and once again he hasn’t retained any of what he just read. Leaning back in his chair with a frustrated groan, he allows the ambient noise of the library to drift back into his consciousness.

The beeping from the front desk as a librarian scans books. The  _ thunk  _ of someone’s metal water bottle on a table. A spirited discussion between two professors in line at the cafe. Levi can feel his will to work slipping from his grasp with each passing moment.

_ “No use trying to study with your mind caught up in more important things,”  _ your voice seeps through the cracks of his work ethic. It had been six weeks into living with each other when you caught Levi staring into space at his desk instead of working  _ yet again _ and decided to do something about it. Your pretty hands had guided his own away from the laptop and closed it with a finality even your obstinate roommate couldn’t argue against.

_ “We’re going out for sushi,” _ you’d insisted.  _ “And then you’re going to watch your favorite show and go to bed.” _

You were right. It’s exactly what Levi needed, both then and now.

“Hey, shortstack!” A pair of hands lands heavily on his shoulders, and Levi has to quell the urge to break Hange’s nose with the back of his hand. He settles for a steely glare over his shoulder, greeted by her energetic grin.

“If you touch me without warning like that again I will not hesitate to put you in the hospital.” Hange doesn’t seem perturbed by his deadpan delivery, but nonetheless removes her hands and holds them up in surrender.

“I come in peace! Just thought I’d say hi before my lab.” She pulls out the chair next to him and plonks down but doesn’t bother to put down her backpack or unwrap her scarf. “How’s the studying going?”

“I was just finishing up. Can’t concentrate in this environment.” He gestures vaguely to their surroundings.

“Yeah, no kidding. I’m surprised to find you here, actually, don’t you usually hole up in an empty studio?”

“Eh, figured a change of pace might help. Clearly not.”

“Great, then you can walk me to class! I’ve been meaning to talk to you anyway.” Hange bounces out of her seat and flits her gaze around the library as Levi packs up his stuff.

As they leave the library together, frigid winter air swirls around them, kicking up a flurry of snow from the snowbank by the sidewalk. Levi zips up his jacket and stuffs his hands into its pockets. Hange is unusually quiet as they walk towards the sciences building. Levi hazards a glance and sees her deep in thought, chin tucked into her scarf and glasses fogged from breath.

“So are you gonna tell me what you wanted to talk about or am I supposed to guess?” He nudges her with an elbow and she jumps.

“Oh! That’s right. It’s about your delightfully brilliant roommate,” she starts, grinning at Levi once more.

“What about her?”

“How has she been doing? Y’know, since the breakup?” Hange’s tone is almost too casual, and it makes Levi take a second to carefully consider his answer.

“She’s been fine, I think. Going to class, eating, studying.” He pauses to think again. “She has been staying up late a lot. Why do you ask?”

“That’s just it, she looked exhausted this morning in our seminar. Like she hadn’t slept at all.” Her quizzical gaze is fixed on him as he considers this.

Come to think of it, you  _ have _ been looking quite tired recently. He had attributed it to upcoming exams, but it could certainly be deeper than that. For the past two weeks since the breakup, Levi had noted light from under your bedroom door every night as he went to bed. And yet, you were consistently awake before him, already on your first or second cup of coffee.

“You’re right. I don’t think she’s been sleeping,” he affirms, setting his mouth in a thin, worried line. While Levi was no stranger to insomnia, he did have strategies to help himself get enough sleep even when his mind couldn’t rest. Chamomile tea, meditation, sleeping pills when it really came down to it.  _ Does she have those resources?  _ he wonders.

They arrive outside the sciences building and Levi stops just short of the stairs, Hange turning to face him.

“Will you check up on her, please? Make sure she hasn’t actually been turned into a vampire?” Her tone is joking, but Levi can see the worry behind Hange’s eyes as he gives her a nod.

“Of course. I’ll text you later. Have a good lab.” He waves her off as she practically skips up the steps, giving him an impish salute.

“Have a good one, shortstop!”


	3. insomniac

Bodies jostle against you in the darkness to the beat of music you can’t hear. The buzzing gets louder, drowning out even your screams for them to stop.

Stop. Stop. STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP!

“STOP IT!” You can hear yourself this time, your voice embarrassingly loud in the cramped room. You slap hands over your mouth but everyone’s already turned to look at you, disgusted at the display of emotion. Even  _ they _ peel their faces apart to sneer down their noses.

“Why should we?” Annie’s voice rings with superiority, swirling around the space and nestling in the crook of your neck. You shudder away, but the faceless bodies shove you back.

“Don’t you know this is your fault, anyway? You weren’t enough for me.” Reiner jeers with a satisfied smirk. The whole room laughs, cackling and giggling spitefully. You can’t move, muscles frozen, as they turn back to each other and continue making out. His hand in her hair, her thigh hooked over his hip, obscenely wet noises from their joined mouths.

You scream and scream and scream, jaw wide and aching, and all of a sudden the scene shifts and you’re at your mother’s bedside. Your breath hitches and you’re screaming in a child’s voice this time.

“Mommy, Mommy, no, please, no, MOMMY, PLEASE--”

Your hand twitches towards her and its movement against soft sheets brings you back to consciousness.

You’re spread-eagled in bed, comforter kicked almost completely off, chest heaving.

“One. Two. Three. Four…” you count in a hoarse whisper to yourself, staring out the window at gently falling snow illuminated in yellow streetlights. It takes you to one hundred and twenty-seven before you’re calm enough to do anything productive. 

You reach out a blind hand to find your phone on the nightstand and raise it up to check the time. 4:47 am. Nearly three hours of sleep.

_ Eh, good enough for jazz. _

You heave a sigh, then push up to sit on the edge of your bed and flick on the lamp. The sudden bright light makes you squint against sharp pain behind your eyes and turn away in search of a sweatshirt. Some sifting through the ever-growing pile of laundry later, you settle on a green university hoodie and pull it on over your ratty tank top. Your toes and fingers always feel like icicles after waking up from a nightmare, so you find faux fur-lined slippers as well.

As you push past your bedroom door and into the living room, a figure in the comfy armchair catches the corner of your eye.

You nearly jump out of your skin before recognizing who it is. “Christ on a cracker, Levi! Nearly scared me half to death.”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry as he marks the page in his book and sets it on the coffee table.

“What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“Well that’s not ominous or anything,” you mutter with an eye roll as you cross to the kitchen and set the kettle to boil for coffee.

Levi sighs and pinches the bridge of his elegant nose.

“Sorry. That’s not what I meant. It’s just… I noticed you haven’t been sleeping much lately and I’m worried.” He crosses to sit at the kitchen table and speaks to your back as you shuffle around the kitchen.

“What do you mean? Of course I’ve been sleeping. Whaddaya think I was just doing?”

“It’s five am, and you were still up when I went to sleep at twelve. Optimistically, that’s four hours of sleep. And yesterday you went to bed after one, but Hange said you were texting her at five-thirty, and--”

“Jeez, what, have you been stalking me or something?” you ask with an incredulous glance over your shoulder.

“We live together. It’s kind of hard not to notice.” Levi’s tone is the usual dry you’ve come to expect, but there’s an undercurrent that you’re too exhausted to pinpoint. “And Hange also told me she’s been worried.”

“What is this, an intervention? Just because I break up with someone I’m suddenly incapable of functioning?” Your voice (and headache) rises with each phrase, cracking on the morning dryness in the air, and you spin to face him.

“I didn’t say that, I--”

“Am I just supposed to wallow in misery for the rest of my life? No. I’m not doing that, Levi, I’m moving on. I-- I’m a busy woman, I’ve got finals and, and internship applications, and I happen to enjoy waking up early. I like watching the sunrise.” Though your words are rushed and you’re gesturing animatedly, uncertainty seeps through the stuttered phrases in your argument.

Levi lets you finish, then returns in a measured voice: “Why are you so defensive about this? I know you’re busy. So am I. But I manage to get more than four hours of sleep at night. I just want to help.”

His statement hangs in the air like dust mites, swirling around you and clinging to the sticky after-effects of the nightmare in your mind. You frown and drop your eyes to the linoleum, guilt settling into the stickiness.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Your voice is much softer. “I just--” A deep sigh. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why?”

The simple question makes your breath stutter and you scrub a hand down your face in an effort to ground your skin into reality.

“It’s so stupid.” It’s practically a whisper. “I have these nightmares. About my mom. I got them when I was younger, too, but eventually they just sort of… stopped. But now they’re back. And I can’t ever get back to sleep after, so I just stopped bothering to try.”

“You know, sometimes I get nightmares, too.”

The admission catches you off guard, your eyes widening. Levi always seems so… steady and sure, you wouldn’t have expected it.

“Really?”

He nods. “About my mom and the foster homes.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you…” Your heart sinks, and you don’t know how to say you’re sorry for the heartbreak he must’ve lived through with any semblance of tact.

“Yeah. It’s not something I talk about much.”

“Right.” You pause and chew on your tongue thoughtfully for a moment. “Do you have...strategies for when you can’t sleep because of them?”

“I have sleeping pills from my psychiatrist and some meditation practices that work for me. I can send you some resources, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I’d really appreciate that if it’s not a bother.” You feel kind of sheepish now, for raising your voice, and so try to sound extra thankful for his help.

“It’s not.” He stands up and stretches both arms over his head, tipping his face up to the sky, lean body arching and twisting with the effort of it. “I’ll send them to you later today. I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“Okay. Thank you, Levi.”

He nods and yawns, nose scrunching adorably. “Night, kid.”

“Good night.”

As his bedroom door clicks shut, you sigh yet again and turn off the stove. The first thing to avoid is probably coffee.

\--

Your fingers flick off last rivulets of water as you step out of the shower. A shiver rattles its way up your spine before you can grab a towel to dry off. Bless Levi, he had done laundry today and the towel is still dryer-warm, smelling of his favorite fabric softener.

As you go through your evening routine (tooth brushing, face washing, hair drying), you can feel a quiet tension set into your shoulders despite the humidity of the bathroom.

The day had gone okay. You managed to resist coffee until 8 am and cut yourself off at 3. A lecture and a studio in the morning left the afternoon for library studying and a trip to the grocery store. 

You had actually seen Bertholdt there, in the cereal aisle. You hadn’t been too keen on having  _ that  _ particular conversation, but luckily he hadn’t seemed to be either. The pair of you exchanged sympathetically awkward smiles before turning back to the Cheerios. 

The evening consisted of ordering chinese takeout while obsessing over your latest architecture design project, followed by convincing Hange over the phone not to sleep in the mouse lab for extra credit.

_ “But Bean will be lonely!”  _ she insisted hysterically.  _ “And Sonny wasn’t looking too hot in lab today, what if he needs his mommy and I’m not there?” _

_ “You’re not their mommy,”  _ you reminded her.  _ “They have each other to keep them company, and if Sonny dies, won’t it support your hypothesis anyway?” _

She had eventually acquiesced when you promised to help her plan a memorial should they pass in the night.

So now here you are, skin slowly drying, as you psych yourself up in the mirror to go to sleep.

“It won’t be bad. Just use the meditations Levi sent you.” You try to inject confidence into your voice, but you only end up grimacing at yourself in the mirror. “Ah, fuck it.”

You tuck your towel in firmly around your chest and double check to see your things are put away before going back to your room.

As you pass, you hesitate by Levi’s door for a moment. His normal studying music, Chopin, is on and light creeps out from underneath. Another moment of uncertainty, then you gently knock and poke your head in.

“Levi?” He raises his head from where he’s hunched over an easel, paint brush in hand. Brow furrowed and body tensed like a strung bow, he doesn’t look happy to be interrupted.

_ Fuck. _

“I, uhm, just wanted to say good night.”

He grunts and turns back to the painting.

You take that as your cue to leave.

Back in the sanctuary of your own room, you curse again and kick your desk chair, sending it rolling a couple inches.

Why had you bothered him? To say good night?

“Stupid, stupid, UGH.” Your dramatic outburst ends in flopping face-first into bed.  _ Just because he felt concerned enough to stage a fucking intervention doesn’t mean he’s your fucking nanny. Idiot. _

Eventually, you roll over and get up to change into pajamas.

Settling into bed, you open your newly downloaded meditation app and start an audio.

_ “As you prepare for your meditation practice today, find a comfortable position sitting or lying down where you can fully relax….” _

The cool female voice wraps your mind in a hazy blanket of fog and eventually coaxes your body into an achingly needed sleep.

\--

This time the dream wakes you up whimpering into your pillow, arms flung above your head as though you’re skydiving. With a sucking breath, you lift your head to prevent imminent suffocation and instead settle on your side, staring unblinkingly into the darkness. Breath ragged in your chest, your mind can’t seem to move past the last image of your nightmare.

It’s burned into your retinas when you close your eyes and etched onto the moonlight-pale wall when they’re open: your mom’s pallid face staring up at the ceiling, hands resting on top of her blue embroidered duvet cover, chest still.

A sob escapes your unwilling throat and you’re scrambling to sit up and reach for the lamp. The lamplight suddenly reminds you of your own existence in the physical plane, thrusting all your senses into sharp contrast.

Her greying, thinning hair, the frailty in her fingers, the cracks in her lips, the cloying scent of death.

“Nonononononononono,” you moan, hunched over your knees, fingers tangled in your hair. Your stomach is hollow, chest tight, tears now flowing in earnest. It hasn’t been this bad in a long time, not since 7th grade at least.

_ Do something, do something, you stupid bitch, _ your mind is yelling at you, and so you force your body to move.  _ Somewhere, anywhere other than here. _

You practically fall out of bed and then lean heavily on your desk to compensate for shaking knees as you move to the door. Feet shuffle in the darkness and all of a sudden you’re sniffling outside Levi’s door, fingers in a deathgrip on your shirt. One, two breaths and you knock three hesitant raps.

_ Fuck. Shit.  _ Instant regret bubbles up in your throat and you pivot away. Before you can get far, the door opens and you hear Levi’s sleep-ragged voice utter your name like a question.  _ Damn. _

You turn back sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve woken you up. Go back to bed.” Your voice is unnaturally breathy as Levi tries to make you out in the dim light of the moon filtering in through the living room window. 

He reaches for your shoulder to gently pull you out of the shadows, and realization crosses his face as he registers the tear tracks and haunting terror in your eyes.

“It happened again,” he states.

You nod hesitantly and wipe at your cheeks with the back of one hand. You try again to tell him that no, really, you’re fine and he should go back to bed, but the words get lost in the tangle of truths between your brain and mouth.

Instead, what comes out is: “Can… can I sleep with you?” Your eyes finally flick to his before you quickly follow up. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I just- it helps to have someone close….”

Levi watches you for a moment before sliding his hand from your shoulder to your hand and tugging gently.

“Come on.”

You follow him inside and fidget awkwardly at the side of his bed as he climbs in. His room is impeccably neat, not that you would expect anything different from the man who once gave you a five minute lecture about leaving dishes in the sink to soak. It was the most words you’d heard him string together at the time, and he only stopped when he realized you were laughing.

_ “You sound like my Great Aunt Cheryl,”  _ you said between hiccups of mirth.  _ “Insufferable woman.” _

He had looked at you scathingly, then made you promise never to leave the dishes for later again on pain of changing the wifi password.

Once he’s settled, Levi turns back the covers on your side and looks at you expectantly. You falter a split second before climbing in next to him, the familiar smell of his laundry detergent clouding around you as you fall back into soft pillows. He throws the comforter over you, then settles down and opens his arms.

“C’mere, kid,” he says with a tenderness that makes a sniffle catch in the back of your throat.

You roll into his arms, resting your head in the curve of his shoulder and breathe the first easy breath since you woke up. An arm flung around his middle means your whole body is against his, warming you up like a midafternoon nap in August.

Levi settles his arm around your back after tucking in the blankets and holds you like you’ve always belonged there. He gradually, gradually feels you relax into him as your breathing begins to match his own.

After a while, your eyes droop closed and Levi allows himself the indulgence of tucking his nose into your hair. A bouquet of lavender shampoo and  _ you _ accompanies him softly into his dreams.


	4. blueberry wine

The dawn slanting in through his window floats Levi to the top of his tidepool of sleep. He feels light and heady and warm, breathing shallowly through his mouth in the way one does when they’re completely relaxed. The first thing he notices is how well-rested he feels, then, as he blinks his eyes open, the next is your hand curled limply in front of his face

Somehow in the night, you stretched the full length of your body out, hips turned towards him but upper body flat on your back. One arm is flung above your head but the other - the one he’s staring at - is reaching out to him. Your face is also turned toward him, relaxed with chapped lips slightly parted.

Levi himself is curled on his side, knees tucked above yours and head bowed towards your chest. The comforter is almost entirely pulled off you and onto his side. Lazily, he twitches it back over your body and yawns once before allowing the gentle rhythm of your breathing to lull him back under.

\--

A hand softly shaking your shoulder and someone saying your name is what brings you to consciousness. Your body moves languidly, stretching into a toe-curling yawn before you open your eyes. Levi is standing over you, holding your favorite mug.

“Sorry to wake you, but I know you have an 11 o’clock and your alarm was going off in the other room.”

You nod through another, smaller yawn (nose-scrunching, this time), then sit up. 

You remember the nightmare and going to Levi and falling asleep in his arms and then… nothing. A dreamless, deep sleep. You smile with the satisfaction of it as you shift to sit cross-legged. The scent of coffee tickles at your nose.

“Is that-- did you make coffee?” Your morning voice is somehow both gravelly and squeaky, making Levi’s mouth twitch in amusement as he offers you the mug.

You take it from him and take a slow, savoring sip. It’s  _ good _ , and you look at him again in surprise.

“I didn’t know you could make coffee.” It’s playfully accusatory, accompanied by a teasing grin on your upturned face.

“I googled it,” he says simply. “Wasn’t too difficult.”

You hum thoughtfully and take another sip as Levi turns towards the door.

“Levi.” Your voice stops him halfway and he turns back to look at you. “Thank you.”

He can tell it’s meant for more than just the coffee, so he nods with a soft smile and an, “Any time.”

He leaves the room and closes the door behind him, leaving you to wake up in peace. You sit there, basking in the sun and sipping coffee, which you realize has exactly the right amount of cream to make it  _ perfect. _

_ Now how did he figure  _ that  _ one out? Definitely not from google. _

The caffeine finally jumpstarts your brain and the room shoulders its way into your awareness. Everything seems to have a place: bookshelf organized by color, fountain pen set carefully in its holder on the desk, painter’s easel angled perfectly in front of a wheelie desk chair. Your eyes linger there, on the easel, and on the portrait of a beautiful woman set there to dry.  _ She looks like Levi, _ you realize. It’s in the color of her eyes and the point of her chin and the curve of her nose. It’s in the black hair and the amused quirk of her lips, and it dawns on you:  _ This must be his mother. _

The pair of you have never talked in depth about your families, but you recall how yesterday morning he said,  _ “I get nightmares, too. About my mom and the foster homes.” _ You had always been relieved to avoid the topic of family -- it’s not exactly small talk to bring up your dead mother and absent father -- and now it occurs to you that maybe Levi was just as relieved.

You carefully detangle your legs from the sheets and stand up, setting your nearly empty mug on the nightstand. Taking a closer look at the portrait, you can see it’s not yet done, hair not quite defined, face missing some highlights and shadows. But it’s nearly there and you almost feel like you could reach out and be touching warm skin. You catch your left hand on the way to test that theory, trembling midair halfway towards her. You use your right hand to physically push it down back to your side and suddenly you can’t look at the painting anymore, eyes darting sharply away. It feels like an invasion of privacy to even look at something so personal, something Levi’s clearly put so much care into. You remember how tense he looked when you poked your head in last night, and suddenly his terseness makes sense; you wouldn’t like to be interrupted while painting your dead mother, either.

You turn sharply on your heel, snatch up your mug, and down the rest of the coffee in one gulp. Now driven by some mysterious sense of purpose, you set about making Levi’s bed. Tugging sheets straight, tucking perfect hospital corners, fluffing pillows, and finally spreading the comforter with a practiced throw is oddly centering, and you find yourself feeling infinitely better by the time you’re done.

A satisfied nod later, you exit the room, mug in hand, and stop short in the doorway.

There’s a man in your living room. There’s a  _ handsome _ man in your living room. There’s a handsome man sitting in your favorite armchair, twiddling his thumbs patiently, in your living room.

He has neatly combed blonde hair and piercing blue eyes which are looking at you inquisitively from under thick eyebrows.

A beat of silence, then he offers a deep, “Hello.”

You know the polite thing would be to greet him back, but what squeaks out instead is, “Who- who are you?” Screw polite, there’s a stranger in your apartment.

He chuckles, openly and (somehow) comfortingly and stands up from the chair. “Erwin Smith. And you must be the roommate.”

_ Oh.  _ You visibly relax, leaning up against the doorframe. You’ve heard of Erwin -- both from Hange and Levi, though you’ve never met the man. Levi speaks highly of him, and you know he’s a political science major and captain of the polo team. And he’s a senior -- a year ahead of you and most of your friends.

“Ah,” you breathe in understanding. “Yeah, I’m the roommate.” You give a friendly smile along with your name, then cross to the kitchen to rinse out your mug. “Are you waiting for Levi?”

Erwin sits back down, relaxing back into the plush armchair, and answers, “I am. He’s just showering, and then we have a meeting.”

You hum thoughtfully in response, putting the mug on the drying rack, then glance at the clock. 10:30. Food will have to wait until after class.

“I have somewhere to be, too, actually.” You hesitate. “You sure you’re good out here waiting all on your lonesome?”

He gives a thumbs up and an easy smile. _ God, he’s nice to look at. _

“I’m all set, don’t let me keep you.”

You smile back and nod, then, “Well, it was nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.”

A broader, cheek-scrunching smile, and you slip into the safety of your own room. The chaos of it is comforting compared to the compulsive cleanliness of the rest of the apartment. In your own space you can leave dirty socks halfway to the hamper and makeup brushes scattered across the top of the dresser and your bed unmade and not worry about any of it.

In a practiced routine, you throw open curtains and sift through your closet for a presentable outfit. You settle on your favorite pair of jeans and a button-up blouse with sensible winter boots and a casual blazer, then check the time on your phone (10:41) before tucking it into your back pocket and scooping up your school bag. With a ten minute walk to campus, you should still be able to arrive in time to get a good seat for your lecture. You spend about thirty seconds wrestling with your hair in the mirror before grabbing a scrunchie to go.

Your re-entrance into the living room gains the attention of both Erwin and Levi, who are looking at the latter’s phone. They watch as you cross the living room in quick strides, keys in your mouth as you throw your hair up in a hasty bun. You grab your jacket from the coat rack and shoulder it on before glancing back at them.

“See ya, boys.” A cheeky grin and a wave later, and you’ve slipped out the door.

Erwin manages to raise a hand in goodbye before you’re completely gone, then glances down at Levi when the door clicks shut wearing a curious lopsided grin.

“So, how long have you been sleeping with your hot room--  _ ow! _ ” He’s cut off by Levi’s swat to the back of his head.

“Shut the fuck up, eyebrows. We’re not sleeping together.”

“Then why was she in your room, in her pajamas, in the morning?”

“None of your business.”

“Fine. If you’re not sleeping with her, do you mind if I--  _ ow, seriously? _ ”

“ _ Tch.  _ You’re fine. No you may not fuck my roommate, dickass.”

\--

When you knock on Levi’s door again that night, it’s just past 1 am. Your father had made a rare appearance in your dream, his grip heavy on your shoulders, face stoic and melancholy as he mouthed words that didn’t reach your ears. You can guess the meaning all too easily, though, and your head jerks to the side as though dislodging a fly as you think back on it now.

Levi opens his door just as you’re shaking off the echo of your father’s words. He takes one look at you, sniffling and twitchy in the near-dark, before motioning you in and closing the door. 

This time, you settle on your side, facing Levi, and pull the comforter up over your shoulder and right up to your nose. He mirrors you, laying on his side so he can look you in the eye.

After a moment, he offers, “You wanna talk about it?” It’s a neutral, low murmur across the short space between you, but it makes your heart grow fuzzy and warm.

You shake your head no, but untangle one hand from its grip on the comforter and haltingly reach out to take one of his. His hands are so dainty, so precise, so perfect it makes your breath skip. You meet his eyes again as he lets you tangle your fingers in his, finding them hooded and stormy and gentle.

No more dreams, that night, your subconscious decides.

\--

“Thank you, drive safe!” You smile at the delivery guy, handing him a tip in cash in exchange for two heavy plastic bags of takeout.

His eyes crinkle at the corner as he backs down the hall with a wave and a, “Have a good night, sweetheart.”

“You too!” You hear a sarcastic scoff from Levi behind you, but ignore him in favor of one last wave before closing and locking the door. 

It’s the Friday before exam week, and somehow you managed to pry Levi away from his final paper for a much needed evening of Chinese food, wine, and a movie. He joins you in the kitchen, reaching down plates as you unpack the bags. 

“Why do you flirt with fuckin’  _ Dirk _ every time he’s our delivery guy?” Levi’s been testy today, terse in his interactions with you and reluctant to leave his studies. “Crusty old sleazeball.” 

You know he doesn’t mean to be as abrasive as he comes off, so you attempt to joke.

“Don’t be silly, I don’t just flirt with Dirk, I flirt with all the delivery guys,” you glance over at him while portioning out noodles and rice, “It ensures our hot ‘n sour soup isn’t spilled going around sharp corners.”

“Well, it’s irritating.” So much for breaking the tension. His jaw is set and he doesn’t meet your gaze, even when you lean sideways against the counter to fully face him.

You stare at him for a moment, incredulous, then decide to stoke the flame a bit.  _ Don’t dish it if you can’t take it. _

“ _ What _ is your damage tonight?”

He only snorts through his nose and reaches for a pair of chopsticks to transfer an egg roll to his plate. The truth is, it’s been five days in a row of you coming to sleep in his bed, and Levi’s starting to break at the seams. He knows he has no right, no claim to you or your attention, but he’s finding it increasingly difficult to quell the jealousy he feels over you. He hates that he has to let you go every morning and he hates that sometimes his arms around you aren’t enough to soothe your panicked whimpers late at night. It’s all too much and not enough - too much for friends and not enough for lovers. What’s his damage? You’ve got him wrapped around your pinky finger and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

You let the question hang in the air for a full minute, all the while fixing him with a glare while he continues assembling a neat plate of food, then throw your hands up in defeat.

“I give up. You have been impossible today. You barely acknowledge my existence, then you try to skip out on movie night, and now suddenly you have some type of issue with how I interact with other people. I’m not dealing with this.” Egg rolls and orange chicken are piled haphazardly onto your rice and noodles, then you’re grabbing chopsticks and stalking across the living room to your door.

“Wait--” the word leaves him in a short grumble, but it makes you stop and turn back to him, frustration apparent in your downturned lips and impassioned eyes. He stops and takes an intentional breath before continuing, “I’m sorry. It’s just-- It’s a personal thing and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. Please don’t go.”

Your expression softens perceptibly, and you shift on your feet before saying, “You know you can talk to me, right? We’re friends, Levi. You’ve been so good to me about the whole nightmare thing, the least I can do is be a sounding board for you.”

_ Friends. _

“Yeah, I… Thanks. I can’t,” a deep inhale, “can’t talk about this particular thing right now, but I appreciate it.”

“You got it.” Finally, finally, your lips turn up into a soft smile and the weight on his chest lifts, then you change your trajectory back towards the kitchen. You grab his plate and chopsticks off the counter and bring them over to the coffee table. “Would you get the wine, please?”

He nods and retrieves it from the fridge, then reaches down two blue wine glasses from the cabinet. They’re nicer than anything he could afford, both the wine (expensive small batch blueberry) and the glassware (hand-blown), but that’s because they’re yours. It had struck him when you first moved in; most of your belongings are nicer than what the average college student would have. He had raised his eyebrows at these glasses in particular as you unpacked the kitchen together. No explanation was expected, but you’d laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of your neck.

_ “It’s my dad, he likes to buy me things. Must be the guilt,”  _ you said, only half-joking, then flushed red and practically ran out of the room to bring up more boxes. Levi had only organized them carefully on a shelf and not mentioned it again.

Now, he joins you on the couch and pours you both a healthy amount of the blueberry wine while you flip through Netflix on the TV. Another gift from your dad, it had arrived a couple weeks after you moved in, large flat box taking up most of the entryway for half a day before you got home. You’d taken one look at it, sighed heavily, and pulled out your phone before disappearing into your room.

_ “Dad? We talked about this, you can’t just--” _ A couple minutes of muffled arguing, during which Levi washed paint brushes in the sink, and you emerged with a strained smile on your face.  _ “Surprise?” _

“What do you think about…” you eyes squint at the flatscreen as you scroll past movies, “Ooh! How about  _ Stardust _ ?”

Levi makes a face, which you catch out of the corner of your eye.

“Okay.... _ Lady Bird _ ?”

“Worse.”

“ _ Into the Wild _ ?”

“Seen it.”

“ _ Paul Blart: Mall Cop _ ?”

“You gotta be shitting me.” He turns to find you grinning at him wickedly.

“That’s what it’s gonna be if you don’t make up your mind soon.”

“Gimme that,” he grumbles, and deftly snatches the remote from your hand.

Eventually, after more bickering through bites of food and sips of wine, you settle on some indie period drama that promises gore and romance alike. The night passes in snide quips about plotholes and historical inaccuracies, and Levi finds his shoulders finally relaxing into the familiarity of your company. Maybe this is enough to sate him.

The movie ends and you’re curled up at the opposite end of the couch, socked feet tucked under your butt and head resting on the armrest. Levi switches off the TV and collects dishes off the coffee table, then turns to see if you’re asleep. 

Your breathing is slow and steady, but your lidded eyes meet his and you mumble a tired, “I’m up.” 

You push up to sitting, yawn, then follow him to the kitchen and fall into your quiet post movie night routine. He washes while you pack up leftovers, then you both dry and put away the dishes. Brushed teeth, washed faces, door locked and bolted. Kettle filled with water for the morning. The domesticity of it catches him slightly off balance, and Levi has to stop himself from squeezing your waist affectionately as he passes behind you in the small bathroom.

Before, this is as far as it’s gone, and you’d murmur a quiet goodnight before shutting your bedroom door. But now, he catches your hand before you get too far and tugs gently.

“Just come in here in the first place,” he offers.

You study him for a moment, and his heart beats faster as your lazy gaze trails across his face, then you hum through a, “mmmalright,” and follow him into his familiar, peaceful bedroom.


	5. the ackerman influence

“Here, thisun ‘sblue!” Hange slurs as she passes you yet another shot glass with Greek letters etched on the side.

“Mmm, I like blue,” you giggle, then clink your shot with hers before you both tip your heads back to pour the liquor down your throats. It tastes inexplicably like turquoise, and you laugh loudly over the thumping dance music in approval. 

The poor freshman charged with staffing the drinks table eyes the pair of you skeptically. “Maybe you two should slow down, you seem like you’ve had enough—”

You round on him, offense written across your face. He’s definitely right, but you aren’t exactly gonna let some pimply, snot-nosed teen tell you how to drink. “Woah, Nelly, this ain’t cocktail hour, this is fuckin’ Greek row an’ I won’t have your judgment,” you waggle a finger in his general direction for emphasis, “harsh my vibe.”

“You tell ‘em, girlfriend,” Hange approves vaguely, hanging off your shoulder.

The freshman holds his hands up in defeat, amused. “No judgment.”

You nod once. 

“C’mon, Han, let’s see if we can find the snacks.”

“Pleeeeeeease…”

You turn away from the drinks table to do just that, angling towards where you remember the kitchen to be — honestly, this frat is huge — and set off through the crowd. Hange trails after you, fingers tangled with yours like they have been all night, yammering on about something you can’t be bothered to follow.

“‘Scuse us, comin’ through, on a mission!” You push past jostling bodies until you reach the far wall and lean against it for the last leg of your epic journey to the fluorescent lights of the kitchen.

Someone calls your name and you look up through squinted eyes to see Sasha leaned up against the counter by the fridge, bowl of chips in her arms and dab pen tucked behind her ear. She’s dressed casually, sweatpants and DIY cropped t-shirt contrasting your jeans and flashy top.

“Sasha! My love! My dearest, sweetest darling!” You stretch your arms wide towards her, Hange jolting forward where you’re connected. “We come in search of snacks.”   


Sasha laughs and lazily deposits her bowl on the counter, stepping forward to stabilize you both with a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve come to the right place, my friends.”

She steers you both to sit at the island, wedging you between the only other two people in the kitchen. You vaguely recognize them as soccer players on the university team: a shaggy-haired brunette and a tall blonde. Sasha passes you her dab pen before ambling over to the pantry. You take a hit, then pass it to Hange, who’s looking much better now that she’s sitting down.

“Sash, these your friends?” the blonde asks, peering down at you through red-rimmed hazel eyes. You pluck the pen out of Hange’s limp grasp and offer it to him in greeting, along with a drunk smile. He takes it and grins back.

“Yep,” Sasha confirms with half her body still stuck into the pantry. “It’s the mad scientist one and the architect.”

“ _ Almost _ architect,” you correct. “Not official until I have my degree! Although, I will agree, Han’s a mad scientist.” You poke her in the side and she swats you away with an eye roll.

“Oh,” the brunette soccer player pipes up from Hange’s other side, now looking at you curiously as well. He’s also high, startling green eyes hooded and posture relaxed. “So you’re Braun’s ex.”

You hide your shudder of distaste by turning back to take a drag off the pen. “Please don’t tell me that’s all I’m known for,” you sigh out with a cloud of smoke.

“Eren, don’t be an ass.” Sasha finally returns with a box of chocolate pretzels and a bag of hot Cheetos. “Pick your poison, hot stuff,” she offers each in turn. You ponder for a second, then reach for the Cheetos. “That’s Eren—” she points to the brunette, who raises a lazy hand “—and that’s Jean—” the blonde reaches for the pretzels. Sasha makes an offended noise and cradles them to her chest.

You introduce both yourself and Hange while Sasha plays defense against Jean’s long reach.

“Sorry,” Eren apologizes to you, leaning over Hange to grab some Cheetos. “I heard what he did to you. Really shitty.” His tone is casual, but the way he’s practically pinning you in place with his eyes makes you twitch.

“Puh-lease,” Hange pulls out the word, long and sarcastic. “‘Twas more than shitty, what that douche did. I’d’ve wrung him out to dry, but she didn’t—”

You cut her off with a sharp poke to her side. “Drop it, Han, I don’t wanna think about it.”

“But— ooh!” She’s sufficiently distracted when you shove your food in front of her face.

“Sorry,” Eren apologizes again.

“S’okay,” you sigh and take another drag, then hold the pen out to him in a peace offering. He smiles slowly and takes it.

“You guys staying over? There’s plenty of room in the basement, and friends of Sasha’s are always welcome.” It’s Jean who offers, returning to his seat beside you with a singular pretzel for his trouble.

“Hmm, might be nice,” Hange muses, but you’re already shaking your head.

“Thank you, but my roommate’d probably have a conniption if I wasn’t home in the morning.”

Hange actually  _ snorts _ at this, then starts coughing violently because of the hot Cheeto dust suddenly up her nose. You pat her back in mild concern.

“What, they got a stick up their ass or something?” Eren asks.

“Or something. Levi’s just protective.”

“Levi?” Eren’s eyes are suddenly wide, almost fearful. “Levi Ackerman?”

“Yeah.” Your tone edges on defensive. “Why?”

He takes a hit and shrugs before answering. “He’s just my foster sister’s cousin. Interesting family.”

“Oh, you mean Mikasa?” You didn’t know exactly how they were related, but she’d helped Levi move in and it had struck you how eerily similar they were in disposition.

“Yeah, Mikasa. She’s around here somewhere…” As though by magic, he turns to look over his shoulder just as Mikasa and another blonde boy you don’t recognize mosey in from the hallway. She’s leaning down to catch his soft words and he’s talking with his hands, stalling as his eyes light on the little group in the kitchen.

“Oh, hey guys,” he greets. 

“Armiiiin,” Eren greets with a genuine smile. “Come meet some new friends.”

The pair rounds the kitchen island, Armin allowing Eren to pull him in by the arm and Mikasa going to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Sasha. 

“I know you,” Hange pipes up, tilting her head to observe Armin. “You’re in the sophomore biochem class I TA for. Arlert, right?”

Armin ducks his head in a nod. “Yep. Professor LaBelle is a wonder, I had a great time this semester.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Hange’s grin is almost slipping to the dangerous side of intrigued. “I graded your final paper, by the way, and just between us, you set the grade curve.”

He blushes red but his eyes shine with something akin to satisfaction. “Really? That’s a relief, it was a bear to write.”

Eren leans back behind Hange to gesture to you, looking across the kitchen at his foster sister. “Mikasa, this is—”

“—Levi’s roommate,” they say at the same time.

“I know.” Her dark eyes regard you interestedly. “Hi, again,” she greets, saying your name even though she’s maybe heard it once in her life.

“Hi!” You give a small wave.

“What, uh, what,” Jean clears his throat and you look up at him to catch a blush staining across his cheeks and nose. He’s looking at Mikasa. “What’re you guys up to in the basement?”

“We were just going to start a movie, Connie’s setting up the projector,” Mikasa says, eyes flicking from you to Eren. “Wanted to see if you guys wanted to join.”

Jean stands suddenly, his stool rocking from the force of it. “Y-yeah, we’ll join!” Sasha hides a snicker behind her hand.

Eren stands, too, between Armin and Hange, who are still chatting. He looks down at you and says your name like a question. “You coming?”

You find yourself shaking your head again. “I’m so crossed, I think if I even  _ look _ at a couch I’ll fall asleep. And I, uh,” you yawn, slipping your phone out of a back pocket to check the time. 12:11 AM. “I should be getting home.”

It’s earlier than when you would normally call it quits, but suddenly all you can think about is going home and falling into Levi’s clean, soft-smelling sheets. Plus, it’s the Saturday preceding finals week and tonight was only meant to blow off steam between intense days of studying.

“You stayin’?” You bump Hange with your shoulder, and she looks around at you with wide eyes as though she forgot you were there.

“Hmm?”

“You stayin’ for the movie?”

“We’re watching  _ It: Chapter Two _ ,” Armin supplies, eyes crinkled in excitement.

Hange’s eyes grow impossibly wider behind her glasses and she grabs your elbow a little too hard. “You wouldn’t mind, right? I’ve been meaning to watch it.”

You smile and shake your head. “Wouldn’t mind at all. You stay, I’ll call an Uber.”

The whole group starts migrating in the lazy way drunk and high people do: Mikasa helps Sasha with the snacks; Eren and Jean grab canned drinks from the fridge; Armin and Hange gravitate towards the door, talking fast with words you’ve never heard before. You stay sitting at the island, tapping away at your phone to order a car.

When you stand to find the front door, your high hits you from behind like a fuckin’ baseball bat and you sway dangerously. You whistle through your teeth, low and soft, planting a hand on the counter. Sasha looks over at you in concern, her arms full.

“You okay, babe?”

“Yeah, I just…  _ what _ is in that dab pen?”

She laughs, head tilting back. “Good shit, right? Got that one new last week.”

“For real…” you trail off, getting your bearings.

“Here,” Mikasa starts, piling even  _ more _ food into Sasha’s arms, “I’ll walk you out. Levi would skin me if he knew I didn’t make sure your driver’s not an ax murderer.”

Normally, you’d protest, but the room really  _ is _ starting to spin.

“Okay,” you sigh and allow her to hook your arm through hers. She’s surprisingly solid, and you find yourself leaning heavily into her. “How’re you still sober?”

“I don’t drink or smoke,” she answers, gently pushing past Armin standing in the doorway. “Doesn’t affect me, anyway, so it’d just be a waste of money.”

“Huh,” you grunt, then twist to wave to the group. “Night, everyone.”

A replying chorus of “goodnight” chases you and Mikasa through the dark foyer littered with drunken party-goers. 

“Oh, wait,” she pauses with a hand on the doorknob. “Did you bring a jacket?”

“Oh,” you wrinkle your nose and think back to getting ready in the afternoon. It had been unseasonably warm and your coat didn’t match your outfit. “No, I didn’t bring one.”

Mikasa gives you an odd look and deposits you by the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Your body feels light as you lean back, tucking your hands into your armpits so they don’t float away. Your eye catches on movement in the dark shadows by the staircase and you squint, trying to see who’s there. It takes a second, but you eventually make out a pair of people, well… making out. They’re completely absorbed in each other, bodies impossibly close and you giggle quietly to yourself before your stomach rolls.  _ No, don’t think about…  _ too late.

You shut your eyes tight and turn away from the couple to lean sideways against the wall. The image is too similar, too gut-punchingly familiar.

_ “Didn’t mean what? Didn’t mean to stick your tongue down my best friend’s throat? Didn’t mean to practically fuck your best friend’s girlfriend in public?” _

The biting words and stuttered apologies are still rolling around in your head when Mikasa comes back, thick puffer coat in hand. She hands it to you and you mutter a subdued “thanks,” twitching to dislodge the dull pain that’s settled in your ribs.

“It’s Eren’s, but he won’t mind. He doesn’t wear this one a lot, and you can just give it back next time we see you.”

“Right,” you nod, head moving a little too easily as you slip your arms in and fumble with the zipper. The faux fur around the hood tickles your face as Mikasa flips it up over your head. She’s clearly experienced in the art of taking care of intoxicated people.

Outside, you’re grateful you bundled up because the temperature has dropped significantly since the afternoon. Chilly December wind bites at your face and you bury your hands in coat pockets to save them from the same fate. Your fingers brush against something cold and metallic, and before you know it you’re pulling out a fistful of crumby objects: a super plus tampon, the packaging split down the side; two “for her pleasure” condoms; and, inexplicably, a Hot Wheels matchbox car. An ugly snort escapes your nose and Mikasa looks over at you in alarm. You raise up your fist and she chuckles through her nose as well. Squinting in the dim light of a flickering streetlamp, you find the expiration date on the condoms to be several months ago, so you lean over to a convenient trash can and toss both them and the tampon. The matchbox car returns to the pocket. Who knows, maybe Eren’ll miss it if it’s gone.

Mikasa doesn’t look affected by the cold, only winding her red scarf more securely around her neck as you both quietly wait on the sidewalk for your Uber. A quick glance at the app tells you that it’s three minutes away.

“Are you and Levi close?” You find yourself asking into the night sounds of Greek Row on a Saturday night.

You almost think she doesn’t hear you over the sound of a group spilling out of a neighboring sorority, but then she answers.

“Not particularly. We didn’t grow up together and only connected because of Uncle Kenny a couple years ago.” Her tone is light and casual as she talks about her family, as though you should know who Uncle Kenny is. _ Should I know who Uncle Kenny is? _

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

“We may not be close,” she starts again, eyeing you closely, “but I think we’re very similar. And I can tell he cares a lot about you.”

“Oh. Right.” Your palms are suddenly sweaty in your pockets.

“He may not show it,” her tone is careful, “But he does.”

You smile faintly and kick your boot against the curb. “He does show it, in his own way. He’s been really good to me.” Somehow, it’s easy to talk about this to Mikasa, even when you get all stuttery and weird having an identical conversation with Hange. Maybe it’s the drugs and alcohol, or maybe it’s because there’s not a hint of judgment in Mikasa’s eyes. Either way, it feels good to speak your feelings into the world.

“Good.” She nods and follows your gaze to where you’re still scuffing the curb. “Some unsolicited advice for you: if you ever want anything besides mutual pining to come out of it, you need to be really obvious. Or make the first move outright.”

_ This _ makes you stutter and wring your hands, she just puts it so  _ bluntly _ . “R-right, the first move…. Oh, I think that’s my car.”

“What’s the license plate number we’re looking for?”

You read it out from the app while Mikasa steps to the back of the blue sedan that just pulled up. She nods, confirming it’s the same, then circles to the driver’s side window, which is cracked open.

“Hi,” you greet the driver, a blonde woman in her late twenties, and confirm her name matches the one in the app before sliding into the back seat. Mikasa leans down to murmur something to her and she nods, glancing back at you in the rearview mirror.

“G’night, Mikasa,” you call out the window. “Thanks for everything. And tell Eren thanks for the jacket.”   


She waves as the car pulls away. You settle into the quiet hum of the car and let your mind wander. __

_ Mutual pining. Make the first move outright…. _

—

  
  


“Mikasa texted me,” Levi says by way of greeting as you stumble out of the car and thank your driver. He’s leaning on a lamp post outside your apartment building when your Uber pulls up, jacket and boots pulled on over flannel pajamas. 

“Levi, stand ominously on the sidewalk often?” you ask, dragging out his name long and sing-song.

“Only for you, kid.” He loops an arm around your waist and steers you towards the entryway

“Not a kid,” you grumble, masking the stutter of your heart at his usual pet name for you. Somewhere in the last couple of weeks, it’s gained a weightier significance, at least to you. It’s endearing and a little distancing and charged all at once and it makes your head spin as you climb the stairs up to your floor.

At your door, Levi unlocks it while you drift slowly in a circle next to him, trying to expend the sudden nervous energy you’ve gained in his presence.

_ The first move, first move, first move… Mutual pining. Mutual. _

“What are you muttering about?”

You hadn’t realized you were thinking out loud.

“Nothing,” you say quickly and pass through the door he’s holding open for you. Your momentum carries you farther than you mean to go, and he catches you by the elbow, reeling you back to the coat rack by the door.

“Whose jacket is that?” He shrugs off his own and eyes the faux fur around your face skeptically.

You fumble with the zipper for a second before he sighs and reaches for it himself, stepping into your space. His face is so close to yours you can feel his breath ghosting over your collarbone as he unzips the jacket.

“Eren’s,” you finally answer. “Look.” You pull the matchbox car out of its pocket and show it to Levi with a wide grin. He stares at it for a second, then the tiniest smile twitches onto his lips.

“He’s a weird kid.” It’s  _ almost _ fond, with an undertone of exasperation.

“You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s in the art department, too. Graphic design major, marketing minor. I TAed his freshman seminar last year.” Levi slips the coat off your shoulders as he speaks, then hangs it by the loop next to his. 

“Ah, that makes sense,” you muse, wandering farther into the apartment. “He looked terrified when I mentioned you. What’d you do to those poor freshmen?”

“Nothing they didn’t deserve.”

“...ominous,” you hiss, your eyes wide as you let him gently push you into your room. The nervous energy hasn’t quite been expended, and you find your hands wringing with it. Suddenly, you’re rambling about your night as he sits you down on your bed among the laundry that’s taken residence there in its disuse. The stupid song they played at the first frat; Sasha’s  _ excellent _ food; the blue mystery shot.

“It tasted like turquoise, I swear, Levi! It was like magic!” Your eyes are wide, insistent as you lean forward into his space.

“How does something taste like turquoise?” He ducks his head to avoid your face, fingers untying the knotted laces of your boots.

“You’re the artist, you tell me.”

“I don’t eat my paint.”

“Not even once? Not gonna lie, your paint looks very tasty, sometimes…”

“Are you always this annoying when you’re high?” He tugs the second boot off your foot as you let yourself fall back onto your bed.

“Come on, you love me,” you crow to the ceiling.  _ Mutual pining. _

Levi mutters something under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Where do you keep your pajamas?” He stands and looks around your room.

“Middle drawer, left side,” you direct, lazily motioning to your dresser with an arm. Your eyes flutter shut as you listen to Levi pick his way across the floor and slide the drawer open.

Normally, you can get yourself in bed after a night out just fine. Normally, you slip into the apartment making as little noise as possible, and fall into bed without Levi even waking up. But it feels nice to have his steady hands on you when it feels like your organs might start floating apart at any second. It’s anchoring and reassuring and you can feel the safety of being near him lulling you into a doze.

_ Come on, you love me. _

You shoot up to sitting, mind whirling and chest tight. “L-Levi?”

“What.”

“D-do…”  _ Do you love me?  _ “Do you think I’m pretty?” It feels petty in your mouth and you immediately regret the words, but it would be worse to try and take them back, so you just bite your lip and look down at the floor.

A hand plops onto the top of your head. Levi’s gray eyes meet yours, soft with something you can’t describe, when he tilts your head up. He’s quiet for a moment, then reaches his other hand to thumb your bottom lip out from between your teeth.

“I think you’re very pretty.”


	6. very pretty, very beautiful

“I think you’re very pretty.”

_ I think you’re very pretty? _

_ Fuck. Shit. _

“I-I-I mean,” Levi feels his throat tighten and cheeks set ablaze, “You’re very, uh, very beautiful.” He says it because it’s true, and the truth is what Levi relies on when his brain is short-circuiting. You’re more than pretty, more than something as trivial as  _ very pretty _ , you’re gorgeous and smart and funny and it makes his palms sweat. Recently, you’ve been everywhere: in his bed, in his arms, in the periphery of his life even outside of the apartment. It’s overwhelming,  _ this _ is overwhelming, how his hands are on you and how you’re looking up at him with insecure, anticipatory eyes. They’re glassy and red-rimmed, pupils blown to saucers.

_ Oh. That’s right, she’s high. _

Levi lets his hand drop from the top of your head. He tries to move his other hand away from your cheek, but you grasp his wrist to keep it there. He can feel his own pulse fluttering under your fingertips.

“Very beautiful?” It’s soft, hopeful.

He forces himself not to retract the statement (because it’s  _ true _ ) out of self-preservation.

“Very beautiful, kid.” He can say it without stuttering this time. It’s important that you believe him, and it’s equally important that this is as far as it goes.

You close your eyes against the pet name and turn your face into his palm for a split second, press a swift kiss to it and then drop your hand to your lap. His heart stutters. He drops his hand, too.

“Thank you,” the words fall past your lips, careful and distant, as he takes a step back.

He needs some space. To get his head on straight, to scream into a pillow, to talk some sense into himself.  _ Can’t risk this, not with you, not with you. _

“Your, um, your pajamas,” he points to the end of the bed where they’re sitting in a neat pile, then turns tail and strides out of your room, shutting the door behind him.

In his room, his jelly legs finally give out and he flops onto his bed.

_ Fucking hell. _

_ “Do you think I’m pretty?” _

What kind of question is that? Do you not think you’re pretty? Do you care if he,  _ specifically _ , thinks you’re pretty, or was it intended more generally?  _ Very pretty, very beautiful. _ What does that even  _ mean? _

Levi may not be eloquent in the least, may not know how to confess that you make his every breath burn in his chest, but he does know how to paint. He stands up, wiping sweaty palms on his flannel pants and examining the painting on his easel. His mom stares back, her eyes sparkling, her hair tumbling over one shoulder in ebony waves. It had taken him the last few days to get the curls just right, and when he added the last highlights of shine, it’d finally felt complete.

“Sorry, mama,” he murmurs as he lifts her to set her against the wall under the window.

A new canvas procured from his closet finds its place on the easel. He sifts through his supply drawers for a moment, setting paints and brushes and charcoal neatly on his desk.

He takes a deep breath, situates himself in his wheelie chair, and leans forward to start sketching.

—

It’s 5 AM when you start screaming in a long, shuddering cry, causing Levi to jolt up in his seat, paintbrush poised over your left temple. It breaks off into sobs that make his gut twist and hands clench. A long moment, then you’re letting out another keening wail and Levi is out of his seat. Paint splatters from the brush where he drops it on his desk and his chair rolls back as he runs, ripping doors open and narrowly avoiding furniture in the dark.

You’re sprawled out, thrashing on the bed, sheets tangled with your legs. Levi sits on the edge of your bed, brows pinched in worry, and reaches for your shoulders. This is okay — he can touch you when you ask for his help. When you whimper and reach for him in your sleep, he can pull you close and smooth a hand across the planes of your back. It’s when you’re looking at him, all trusting and expectant for _ something _ , that he’s unsure.

He says your name, low and urgent, once, twice, before your eyes open mid-sob. They’re wide and terrified, your jaw tight, muscles clenched. “It’s me, kid, it’s just me,” he intones, “It was just a dream, you’re safe, it’s just me.”

Your heaving chest slows for a second, hitches somewhere in your sternum, and then you’re launching yourself forward and into him. He catches you there, steady against his chest.

“Breathe.” He sets an example with his own deep breaths.

It’s a long minute before he feels you relax at all, before he feels you sigh against his neck. Your arms are tight around his middle and you must be stronger than you look because after a while it starts to pinch. He doesn’t mind, though, just traces patterns on your back and stares at the pale wall.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He feels you shake your head.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

You hesitate before you whisper, “Only if you stay.”

Levi thinks about the wet paintbrush currently drying to his desk. He thinks about the mess of clothes on your floor. He thinks of the half-finished painting of you in his room. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

You pull back, and he gets a look at your face in the near-dark. Your eyes are still acutely haunted, but they’ve regained awareness. He lets you take a moment to wipe at your cheeks as he reaches to gently disentangle the sheets and spread them more carefully over your legs.

He looks up at you again to catch your sad eyes with his. Your head is tilted quizzically, knowingly, sympathetically all at once as though he were the one who just woke up screaming. It makes him itch.

“What’s that look for?” he grumbles, toeing his slippers off and tucking them under your bed.

“Nothing,” you hum. “Come here, please.”

He blinks at you for a second.  _ That’s my line. _ But he goes, crawling into bed with you and slipping under the covers. He lets you tug his arm gently so that he’s on your chest. He gets comfortable there, one arm thrown over your waist and head rested over your heart. Your own arms find a home cautiously around him. You exhale with the grounding pressure of his body on yours and let your mind sink into calm release.

—

The knock on your door breaks your attention from your laptop. You sigh, finish typing your sentence, and push your blue light glasses up your nose before standing up to answer it.

You’re not expecting anyone, but maybe Levi is. He’s been holed up in his room all morning, Chopin drifting lazily under his door, probably studying. Like you’ve been trying to. The second series of knocks on your door makes you jog the last few steps to pull it open.

“Hi—” the greeting dies in your throat when you see who’s standing there.

“Hi,” Annie says. She’s standing, nonchalant as ever, in her winter parka and leggings, holding two to-go cups and a pastry bag.

“What?” It’s a breathless question, genuinely confused. It doesn’t harbor the animosity you would expect — you’re not sure you can feel anything other than queasy right now.

“I got your voicemail.” 

You blink in confusion. She rolls her eyes and thrusts the to-go cups at you with a brief “hold these” before reaching into her pocket for her phone. You just stare at her while she taps and scrolls for a minute. She looks the same as before you stopped speaking: blonde hair tucked into a bun at the back of her head and hoodie peeking out of the collar of her jacket. Maybe a little more tired, though Annie always seemed to be tired.

She holds up her phone for you to hear as a voicemail starts playing and, to your further shock, your own tinny voice spills out. It sounds like you’re crying, and slightly muffled.

“Annie, hi, um, I know it’s late but I couldn’t think of anyone else to call, I just,”  _ sniffle _ , “I know we’re not talking and I’m still mad at you, like  _ REALLY MAD _ , okay? But I couldn’t think of who else to call and long story short I think I’m in love with Levi and he might’ve just rejected me but I just couldn’t tell—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you cut in across your own voice, stepping into the hall with her and toeing the door almost shut behind you. She stops the voicemail. “But why are you here?” You know why she’s here — Annie never backs down from anything, and you had started the conversation, even if you’d been drunk and high and half asleep and you don’t really remember doing it.

“You called, here I am. That’s what best friends do.” Her tone is even.

“Not best friends who fuck their best friends’ boyfriends,” you snap, anger finally bursting from your stomach and into your throat.

She closes her eyes impatiently, sighs, then looks at you again not quite pleadingly.

“Look, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave. But I’m here now and there’s more to the story that you aren’t aware of.”

“What else could there possibly be?”

“Let’s go for a walk and I’ll tell you,” she offers, then holds up the pastry bag. “I brought coffee and donuts. They’re jelly.”

Jelly donuts are your favorite.

You look down at the cups in your hand. You look back at her steady blue gaze.  _ More to the story. _

“Fine.” You turn and kick the door open a little too harshly. “Just let me get dressed.”

She follows you in, even though you don’t extend an invitation, and closes the door softly. You put the cups down on the coffee table and watch her sit in her usual spot on the couch to wait for you out of the corner of your eye. You scowl but say nothing.

It only takes you a minute to shuck off to pajamas and pull on jeans, a sweatshirt, and boots. You don’t bother with a bra.

You knock lightly on Levi’s door and call through, “I’m going for a walk, so make sure to lock up if you leave. I have my keys.” You jingle them as evidence and he grunts in acknowledgment. “Let’s go,” you turn and address Annie, who stands.

The walk down your street to the river is short and habitual, your feet carrying you while your mind races. You can feel the anger and hurt, visceral and stabbing, in your chest. But there’s also something tender there, too, something that acknowledges how you missed your best friend. Something that screams at you to tackle her to the ground and feel her stoic comfort. Instead, you shove your hands deeper into the pockets of Eren’s jacket and kick a pebble, sending it skidding down the sidewalk.

The pair of you reach the walking bridge over the river and pause at the railing. The sky is overcast, threatening a snowstorm. A car beeps downtown, reaching you distantly. Annie hands you a coffee and a donut. You lean against the railing and avoid her gaze.

“So. You wanted to talk. Talk.” You bite into the donut.

She sighs through her nose. “I know what you saw. We… we  _ did _ kiss, but we didn’t do anything else. We never had sex.”

“Hmm.” A sip of coffee.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but it’s the truth. I’m guessing you didn’t exactly listen to Reiner when you broke up with him?”

“I didn’t have time for his bullshit excuses.”

She breaks off a bit of her donut and stares at it contemplatively for a moment, “I know you don’t owe either of us anything, and this isn’t meant as an excuse, but will you listen to why, at least?”

You press your lips together, sneak a look into her devastatingly blue eyes, and nod. What harm can it do? And you have to admit there’s a large part of you that’s been wondering at the  _ why,  _ even if you’ve refused to hear it.

“Okay. Tell me why.”

She takes a deep breath and leans her elbows on the railing before starting to speak, low and pensive.

“I’ve known Reiner and Bertholdt a long time, since we were kids. We’ve always been this… this odd group. You wouldn’t think we were close if you didn’t know us. But it wasn’t always just us.” She pauses, looking distant. “Do you know Porco Galliard?”

_ Galliard…  _ “He’s a sophomore on the lacrosse team, right?”

“Yeah. Do you know what happened to his brother?”

“He has a brother?”

“Had. Marcel. He was a year older than us but somehow ended up in our little group. And a couple of years ago, senior year of high school, we were all in a car accident. He was home on winter break and we’d all had a little too much to drink, and we convinced him to take us to Denny’s for midnight milkshakes. And, well, there was a winter storm coming in and it’d been freezing rain that week, and we crashed. Marcel died. It was… I hadn’t…” She pauses, tilting her head back to the sky, blinking away tears. “It was horrible.”

Your eyes have gone wide, cast downriver. You don’t know what you’d expected when you walked down here, but it certainly wasn’t  _ this _ . It wasn’t Annie, only rivaled in her stoicism by Levi, choking back tears and wiping snot from her nose.

“Hey,” you start, voice gentler than it’s been all day. “You don’t have to—”

“No, no, I want to, just... give me a second,” she interjects, wringing out a hand. She takes a deep, purposeful breath.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking back out across the water.

“It, uh, it hit us all really hard, brought us really close together. That’s why we all ended up at school here, actually. It kinda made us realize that, like, time is limited, you know? We don’t have forever. And Bertl, he…” she smiles, watery and reminiscent. “When he asked me out, it felt like a long time coming. It was just about perfect. He felt safe and like  _ home _ , and… well, you know how in love we were. But I could see that it alienated Rei, at least a bit. He tried not to show it, but I could tell he felt like a third wheel. He was already drifting away from us, still struggling with all this  _ guilt _ .”

Your breath catches in your throat. That’s a familiar feeling. Guilt. And yet, you’d never noticed it in Reiner, apparently never got close enough to shine a flashlight into his darkest shadows. He’d always seemed so… sunshiney. You clearly hadn’t given him enough credit to dislodge the aura of jock frat boy he projects so brightly.

Soft dough squishes under your fingertips where you’ve resorted to playing with your food instead of eating it as Annie continues.

“And then he met you and fell in love so fast. I was so relieved, I mean, you and I were roommates and it was just  _ perfect _ , right?” You look at her and see a flicker of hopefulness still there. “I thought maybe you two getting together would bring him back to us, that maybe we’d be alright after all. And at first, it did. But then you moved off campus for sophomore year and he started drifting away again, though he was at least anchored to you, this time. It scared me, it really did.”

She kicks the bottom of the railing lazily, as if to expend the sadness there rather than in her words. The first fat flakes of snow drift down around you. One dances away on your exhale.

“He’s so withdrawn, sometimes, in his own head, and I never know how to reach him there. I didn’t know if he had told you about Marcel, or anything, so I couldn’t go through you. I don’t… I didn’t know what to do, so I just... let it fester. That night, when we kissed, I hadn’t seen him physically for a month. It  _ hurt _ .”

She looks at you imploringly, like the weight of everything she’s saying lies on deep hurt. You can relate to feeling as though there’s nothing  _ but _ hurt and guilt and drifting.

“So I figured out where he was from his Snapchat story, abandoned my group project, and went over there to see him. I didn’t know what I’d say or do when I got there, just that I had to get him back, somehow. He was already plastered, you know how he gets, and he wasn’t listening to me, so I just… kissed him. I don’t know what I was thinking, I didn’t know you were there, I didn’t even know you saw until he called me the next day after you broke up with him to chew me out.

“So, long story short,” her voice breaks on a mournful, almost hysterical laugh, “I fucked up the three most important relationships to me in one night because I couldn’t use my words.” She wipes at wet cheeks, not looking at you. “So, um. Yeah, that’s the why, I guess. I don’t expect you to forgive me, or him, but I just… I needed you to know. It wasn’t like, this elaborate affair.”

You aren’t sure how to right your brain from the way it’s tilted off kilter. It’s so much, so different from what you’d built up in your head. There’s no conspiracy, no grand intention to break you.

Even with all this new information, what stupidly slips out first is, “Did he kiss you back?” You blanch, turn to her with wide eyes, “Sorry, that’s not exactly im—”

“No, it’s fine,” she meets your eyes. “He did kiss me back.”

“Oh. Okay, um…” you trail off, bite your lip. You don’t know what exactly to say. Your skin is tight with the urge to forgive her immediately and wholly, but logic holds you back. Now that you know the truth, you need time to heal and get some perspective. You straighten up from where you’d been slouching against the railing. “Okay. You’ve been honest, so I will be, too.”

She stands up fully as well, facing you with one hand on the railing.

“I don’t know how I feel right now,” you start. “I think I need some time and perspective. But, I… I can see now where I went wrong, too. I assumed the worst, didn’t let any communication happen.” You swallow down the lump in your throat threatening to choke your voice. “And, I wasn’t there for Rei like I should have been. I had  _ no _ idea — no idea! — what he was going through.”

“Well, he didn’t exactly tell you—”

“And why is that?” Your voice breaks, squeaks with the question. “Did he feel like he couldn’t confide in me? Did I make it too much about me and  _ my _ trauma? I wasn’t exactly shy about telling him my shit.” You take a long draw of coffee. “Anyway. I should probably talk to him, shouldn’t I?”

She nods. “He’d like that.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, watching the sparse snow flurry around you. Annie finally starts eating her donut.

“I’ve missed you,” you confess into the storm. “A lot.”

“I missed you, too.”

Your chest aches with both the cold air and the conflicting feelings of relief and regret.

“Why, uh… why didn’t  _ you _ tell me all that stuff about Marcel?”

She leans on the railing again, takes a sip of coffee before answering. “I was still working through it. Still  _ am _ , rather. I didn’t know how to bring it up, or that it was relevant.”

You hum, nodding. “I get that.”

There’s another silence, but it feels lighter, less charged. There are still questions bouncing around your mind, but you decide it’s better to process through them on your own rather than blurting out something stupid.  _ Perspective. _

“So,” she shoots you a look under blonde eyelashes, “what’s this about you being in love with Levi?”

“Aw,  _ shit _ ,” you laugh, leaning your elbows back on the railing and giving her an imploring look. “It really snuck up on me.”

“Is that so? Can’t say I’m shocked.” Her tone is dry, a little amused around the last bite of jelly donut. She wipes her fingers on her leggings and faces you. “And you think he rejected you.”

“Well, I…” you cringe, thinking back to last night. “He called me very beautiful.”

“Doesn’t sound like a rejection.”

“It was the way he said it! Like it physically hurt him to admit, and then he just ran out of the room,” you whine, scrubbing a hand down your face.

“I think that’s just his emotional constipation.” 

You look at her sharply, mouth agape, to catch her eyes dancing and the corner of her lip curling upward slightly.   
  
“Annie!”

“What? I’m right.” She finishes off her coffee, tilting back the cup to catch the last dregs of it. “He likes you, or he’s an idiot if he doesn’t.”

You narrow your eyes in doubt, mirroring her half-smile. “Hmm. We’ll see.”

“Yes,” she promises, crumpling up the pastry bag in her fist and stuffing it in her pocket. “We will.”


End file.
